Primal- the sense of self
by Ophium
Summary: Dean is back from Purgatory and it's not easy to adjust to life as it was. Specially because he is not the same man as before. Rating for language and gore. Complete.


- PRIMAL -

_The sense of self_

Dean wasn't the kind of guy that sat at the window, watching the raindrops gliding down the glass, contemplating the whys and the hows of his existence.

He was pretty sure he'd go insane if he ever tried.

'_Roll with the punches'_, his dad used to say. So Dean did.

Most of the time, it wasn't even that much of a big deal. The _thing_ only came out when he was in danger, like some kind of adrenaline fueled response. Dean had no idea why or how it worked. Just that it worked.

He had no idea why or how come it was still even _there_. After all, what happens in Purgatory _stays_ in Purgatory, or at least he had thought as much.

For once, Dean was more than happy for being utterly wrong.

Stripped of his weapons and left feeling all but naked in a room filled with Leviathans, Dean knew with a certainty that was born out of his many years fighting evil, that he and Sam were screwed.

Sweat trickled down the side of his face, lazy fat drops that took their time descending to pool at the hem of his shirt. Beside him, Dean could feel his brother tensing, eyes darting around carefully, methodically; trying to guess which of the monsters surrounding them would make the first move.

When Dean surged to action and started slashing away with a weapon that should not exist, it took all of them by surprise. Even himself.

- o -

It was only after Cass blipped out of existence that Dean realized how truly dark Purgatory was, as if the angel had a light of his own that had been snuffed away alongside with him.

The things that charged him then had red eyes and fur that seemed to melt into the shadows. There were teeth too. Dean couldn't see them in the darkness, but he could hear them grind and snap, eager to taste his flesh and tear it apart.

He had picked up a rock from the ground on instinct, not really sure if he should use it to stave off the inevitable or put and end to his misery.

- o -

"You should eat," Sam pointed out, pushing a plate with greasy fries and a bun overfilled with undercooked meat.

Dean picked it up and took a bite just to avoid discussing the matter with Sam. He wasn't hungry.

After he'd come back, Dean was rarely hungry. It was like his stomach had retired from lack of use and was now reluctant to return to active duty no matter how much Dean forced the issue.

After spending so much time being an out-law in Purgatory, it was hard to start taking in account the laws of physic again. One year without food had bared no consequence in there.

Two days on Earth and Dean could barely muster the energy to get out of bed. He did it anyway, dragged himself on weary legs to the bathroom and stripped. Cleaning up, like so many other things, was a luxury that he had been forced to do without in Purgatory.

Under the hot water, Dean's eyes couldn't help but travel there, to look at the piece of Purgatory that he'd dragged back, the piece that seemed to scream for the whole world to hear that he was not the same man as before.

Getting out of Purgatory was a little like running at full speed towards a solid wall, knowing with all certainty that it's going to hurt like hell once your body impacts and then hit it and finding out that the wall isn't solid at all. There is no wall.

Dean had expected an obstacle nearly impossible to surpass; unimaginable pain; some sort of tangible barrier to separate what had been from what was now. Instead, Dean slipped from one world to the other as easily as one using a revolving door. Round and round he went and, on some days, he couldn't really be sure which side he'd come out.

It would be less confusing if he and Sam spent most of their time in big cities, filled with barely controlled chaos and the buzz of a thousand people. As it was, the Winchesters kept mostly to small towns and the long stretches of road between them.

A tree was a tree was a tree. And in days when the sky was mostly overcast and all colors turned into gray, Dean was sure that he had never really left Purgatory. His eyes would start darting around, looking for the kind of danger that he knew couldn't be there, sweat pouring down his back like an ice cold zipper, slowly sliding down to expose his soul.

Sometimes all it took to ground him back was Sam's solid presence by his side. Other times he had to stop the car and walk away, fearful of what Sam might see, terrified that he would realize out how much his brother had changed.

And always, _always_, Dean would take care to make sure his sleeves were down.

- o -

The rules of Physic on Earth didn't exactly translate well in Purgatory. Up was sometimes down, down could be sideways, heavy was sometimes weightless, forward could sometimes backfire. It became an annoyance after awhile.

It was downright scary the first time Dean went down a hill and found himself on top of a tree.

He didn't grow used to it. There was no growing use to seeing mountains fall down from the sky like they were nothing but rain. There was no growing use to feeling time pass by you and leaving no mark behind. No hunger. No thirst. No sleep.

All rules were out the window. _That_, Dean could understand. That he could plan for and be prepared.

Still, even after some time spent there, some things still managed to catch him by surprise.

Pulling physical things out of thin air should not be possible. And yet, Benny assured him that the woman that lived by the mountain could. That after seeing her, he could to.

You see, she was like him. Human.

- o -

Dean's world was still spinning when Sam's hand landed on his shoulder and everything came to a sudden stop. His head hurt.

Dean blinked, trying to clear the red haze from his eyes only to find out that it wouldn't go away. He licked the corner of his lips. Blood. "Are you okay?" he whispered to Sam, because seeing his brother through a red film was setting off all the alarms in his being.

Sam just stared at him, a look of disbelief mixed with anger that Dean couldn't quite understand. Around them, the ground was littered with black goo and severed heads.

"Sam?"

Sam looked away, pulling a bandana from his pocket like the thing was corded around his kidneys and it actually hurt to pull it out. "You're bleeding," he mumbled, shoving the thing against Dean's forehead with force enough to make him stumble. "Also, you lied to me."

The change in topic was so abrupt that Dean was sure he'd heard wrong. "I— what?" he asked, fumbling with the piece of cloth that had been thrown his way. "What are you on about?"

"You said it was just one more tattoo. A '_trifecta celebration'_," Sam said, mocking throwing Dean's words back at him.

And just like that, Sam turned and started picking up heads into a black plastic bag.

- o -

They had to walk for almost a week to get to the right place. Suspicious by nature, Dean thought more than once that the vampire was just stringing him along and leading him some place far away to betray him. But then again, why go through all that trouble when every square inch of Purgatory was fit for an ambush?

The mountain was impressive, making the Everest look like a scrawny hill. The center of it was hollow, like someone had stolen the heart of the mountain and left it standing there, dead. The summit, covered in fire, seemed to be supported by little more than thin air. The whole thing seemed ready to collapse at the flap of a bird's wing.

The mountain wasn't their destination, just a landmark. The tree Benny led him to stood tall and wide enough to park a freight truck inside. Dean couldn't help but whistle as they went in. He'd stayed in motel rooms smaller than the natural cave created inside the tree trunk.

"Come in peace or be gone," a voice boomed from the far end of the spacious room.

"We come in piece, Frey," Bennie replied for the two for them, like it was some sort of password that would get them through the door. "I brought you a customer."

For some reason, Dean had been expecting a small, old lady. Feeble. Possibly with her hair up in a bun.

He should have known better than to expect anything in Purgatory to follow Earth's rules. She was old, that much was plain to see just from looking into her eyes. She _felt_ as old as the world itself, maybe older.

She looked like a young woman. A Norse woman. A regular Valkyrie, long blond braids and all.

It was kind of hot.

"Did you bring payment?"

"Five werewolf hearts, as requested." Benny tossed the bloody bag on the floor of the large tree. "Fresh," he added with a snarling smile.

Despite the fact that they were in Purgatory and that every werewolf killed ended up there sooner or later, it had been surprisingly hard to find five of them in such a short time.

Dean had suggested they used the hearts of vampires and other shapeshifters. After all, since they'd all been human at some point, their hearts should be all the same.

Seeing the woman open the bag and sniff each heart with the same focus as a hound on its prey, Dean was glad that Bennie had flat out refused to cheat. Dean wasn't sure how, but he was certain that she would have been able to find out which weren't truly werewolf hearts.

"Payment is good," she sentenced. "We begin now."

- o -

Sam had seen it the first day he and Dean had been back together. It was impossible not to, not when the two of them shared such close quarters. He'd just stepped inside the bathroom as Dean was finishing drying off and his eyes had zeroed in on it immediately. "When did you get that?"

Dean resisted the immediate urge to pull his arm away before Sam could grab it for a closer look. Oblivious to his brother's hesitation, Sam had taken hold of Dean's right arm and was tracing the sword's pattern in his forearm.

"Looks kind of Celtic or Norse," Sam whispered. "Who made it?"

The design in itself was elaborate. Patterns that turned into the leaves and twirls, crossed lines and circles surrounding the sword itself. The blade alone was about the length of Dean's forearm and not an inch of it wasn't decorated with the elaborate designs.

"Some tattoo artist, real celebrity in that line of work, or so I was told," Dean answered earnestly. See the need for more details in Sam's eyes, he went on. "I was drunk. Thought I should get something to celebrate being such a well traveled man. You know, the trifecta," he added with a smile. "Heaven, Hell and Purgatory. It was either this or a frigging medal."

Sam tore his gaze away from the tattoo and looked Dean in the eye. He seemed to be weighing Dean's explanation. "Well," Sam said, picking up his shaving kit, "at least it's not a butterfly... or a pair of boobs."

Dean cuffed him in the neck, because that was what Sam expected him to do after a jib like that. Because that was normal.

And because it gave Dean an excuse to run from that bathroom before Sam could see the remnants of panic in his gaze. The terror and uncertainty he'd felt while waiting for Sam's determination. And how relieved he was that he'd escaped greater scrutiny. That time.

- o -

"I didn't lie to you," Dean felt the need to point out.

Sam paused, a dead head dangling from his fingers by its long hair. A raised eyebrow told Dean how much his brother thought that was bull. "So, the sword you just used, the one you apparently pulled out of your ass, is _not_ the same as the one tattooed in your arm, the one that was _just a tattoo_?"

"Well... it's-" Dean looked away, resisting the urge to pull his sleeves down. "-It's complicated," he finished lamely.

"It's a yes or no question, Dean," Sam pointed out, picking up the last of the heads. "Actually, you know what? I don't even want to know. The answer's pretty obvious."

And with that, he turned away and left.

"Sam..."

The right words would make Sam stop in his tracks; the right words would make him stay. Words, however, failed Dean.

To be honest with himself, Dean wasn't all that sure why he'd kept that secret from his brother. Well, he knew why; some part of himself had wanted his brother to look at him like he was the same man of before, like nothing had changed. Dean just wasn't sure if it was worth the effort.

Some secrets are simply too big to stay hidden.

Before Dean could actually gather his resolve and chase Sam away with all of his perfectly good reasons for the deceit, something moved out of the corner of his eye. One of the Leviathans, head still attached to its body –or reattached to its body- slowly rose to its feet, toothy smile spreading like a shark's as he launched himself at Dean.

Caught by surprise, Dean lost his balance and flew backwards. His head, already bruised for the initial fight, banged against something hard and unyielding. As the darkness closed in, all Dean remembered seeing was teeth.

- o -

It wasn't much of a tattoo when the woman laid down her pen and declared her work done. In fact, Dean would've complained about the fact that the four straight lines that she had inked into his skin looked as far from a weapon he could use as four lines had ever been, but Benny had dragged him outside before Dean could open his mouth.

It wasn't until they were ambushed on the way back by a group of nymphs and Dean found himself fighting for his life, that he understood the true beauty of the spell.

For each time he drew blood off his enemies, a new line would appear in the drawing. One more detail for each life taken.

In Purgatory, the blade had become an extension of his arm. All Dean need do was think, and Bam! the sword would magically transfer from his skin to his hand.

It hurt at first, like a pulled muscle being used over and over again. That passed, eventually.

By the time he and Benny found their way out of Purgatory, the sword's pattern in Dean's arm was so elaborate and intricate that the original four lines could no longer be told apart from the rest of the design.

- o -

As the saying goes, Dean had fully expected to wake up dead. He didn't though. Just in a world of pain and a distant scream that he was pretty sure had belonged to him.

The world was cold and black and it was spinning around him, like water draining down the sink. His head was killing him and he couldn't really feel anything below his stomach. Dean feared that there might be something wrong with his back, images of Bobby in a wheelchair setting off a pang of sadness in his heart.

The cold and blackness were easily explained by the fact that they were now outdoors. The floor beneath his back felt lumpy and unforgiving and Dean could see gray clouds against the dark sky. The reason for his numbness, however, was scarier than a broken back. There was a Leviathan currently sitting on top of him.

"That was a really neat trick you pulled back there," the thing said. "Dick will want to take a look at this."

It took Dean a second to link the words to the fact that his arm was on fire. Sitting across his hips, the Leviathan had Dean's right arm in a dead grip, blade slowly sawing away at the skin bearing the tattoo.

Dean twisted his hips and thrust with his legs, trying to dislodge the monster currently filleting him. His feet skidded on the ground, the sound of loose gravel mocking him.

The Leviathan didn't move an inch. Although it _looked_ like a half starved middle age man with a balding head, it weighed like a well-fed bull.

"Dick's dead, asshole! Didn't you get the memo?" Dean spat, trying to dislodge the arm trapped against his body. And damn the Leviathan's top dog for making every mention of his name sound like soft porn.

"Stop squirming, mouse", the Leviathan hissed back, his focus on the task. "If I mess this up, the boss will have my hide for it."

Dean forced his eyes to look at his arm. Blood looked black in the dim light, making his arm look like it was covered in dark vines.

Nearest to the wrist, the skin was already raised and the Leviathan inserted his fingers underneath.

Dean gasped, choking down another scream. "Dick's in Purgatory. He's not seeing the light of the sun anytime soon," he managed to say through clenched teeth. God! That hurt!

"You know what Steve here used to do, back when he was food?" The Leviathan asked. It actually paused, waiting for Dean to take a guess; when none was offered, he went on. "He was an office clerk at some unimportant business company -which sounds boring just from saying it, by the way- but on weekends..." the monster paused again, giving a pull on the skin between his fingers, tearing it back a good couple of inches.

Dean screamed, whole world going white with pain, blood rushing to his ears.

"On weekends, Steve here hunted rabbits. Killed them and skinned them..."

Another pull, skin tearing away like fray cloth.

Dean heard the voice at a distance, words filtered through a waterfall.

One final pull of skin that tore it all the way to Dean's elbow. He barely felt it as the Leviathan used a knife to cut the whole piece away. "There," the Leviathan said, sounding utterly satisfied with itself. "Perfect."

Through the haze of pain, Dean could feel the monster getting off of him and walking away, light footsteps crushing gravel. His right arm was burning, spasms of pain hitting like pointy needles where the skin was missing.

Rolling over with a hiss, Dean's eyes followed the Leviathan across the space. There were a number of raised platforms and metallic structures at regular intervals, popping off the ground like mole mounds. It finally hit Dean were they were.

A rooftop.

Across a small distance, on the opposite end of where the rooftop entry door stood, Dean saw as the monster picked up a large jar sitting on top of one of the air conditioner exits and dumped the stretch of Dean' skin inside. From where Dean was, he could see the black ink of the tattoo, suspended in some kind of clear liquid, clashing heavily against the pink swirl of fluid and blood surrounding it.

Struggling to get to his feet and make his escape before the Leviathan returned to finish the job, Dean clamped a hand over his bleeding arm and rolled over on his knees. Using his bleeding arm for support, Dean pushed to his feet.

The round trip from standing on his feet to landing back on his knees was so fast that Dean barely had time to realize that his legs lacked the strength to keep him up. The landing jarred his wounds and Dean bite down his lip to stop himself from screaming.

God! Now would be a really nice time for Sam to show up for the rescue.

From what little Dean could see from that roof, it seemed like they hadn't gone very far from the place where he and Sam had been ambushed. But Sam had already left the building by the time the Leviathan had pounced.

If Dean knew his brother well, Sam would go sulk by the car, waiting for Dean to admit defeat and join him there. Hours could go by as the two siblings fumed in separate corners. Hours without Sam ever find out that Dean was in trouble.

"SAM!" Dean tried, hoping that his brother was somewhere close enough to hear him scream. "SAM!"

A gust of wind nearly made him topple over and Dean cursed his luck. He hadn't even noticed how windy it was up there until he had opened his mouth at top lungs and barely a sound had come out. He might as well be spitting in a storm.

Sam wasn't hearing any of it. He could be right now in front of that same storage place, and he wouldn't hear a word.

"Now... what do you think you're doing, little mouse?"

The voice came right from behind him and Dean turned too fast to fend off an attack that he knew he had zero chances of defending. His vision blurred, eyes barely registering the toothy smile on the monster's face.

"There is still the small matter of getting our boss back, don't you remember?" it chastised, pushing Dean flat on the floor. Seeing the confused look on Dean's face, it smirked. "Forgot to mention that, have I?"

Pushing his pain away, Dean threw his leg up, feeling it contact solidly with the Leviathan's face. It was as effective as throwing feathers at the thing, Dean knew that, but it gave him a small measure of satisfaction.

'Steve' spat on the floor, more annoyed than pained by the action, and kicked Dean in the ribs, effectively turning him over. "Now, now... no biting, mouse. You'll like this next part."

Dazed by the blow, Dean barely felt as the Leviathan grabbed his collar and started to slowly drag him towards one of the ventilation exits. They were nice and flat on the top, like a hard bed.

"Ever since he learned what was written in that damn tablet, the boss left precise instructions with a few of us, you see," 'Steve' went on, pulling Dean up and on top of the flat surface like he weighed nothing at all. "Just in case the impossible happened and you grunts actually managed to kill him."

He pulled a length of rope and set off bidding Dean's arms and legs. "We already have the blood of a virgin –humm, she was _delicious_- and now, all we're missing..."

_Is the blood of a Purgatory native_, Dean's mind filled in.

His blood.

- o -

Sam hadn't gone that far. Sure, he was pissed at Dean for having kept the true nature of that tattoo from him, but he had just gotten his brother back from the dead –again- and that was not the sort of thing to be so easily eclipsed by one lie.

After all, the size of the high horse Sam could mount over the matter of lying to brothers was kind of tiny.

By the time he had reached the car, Sam had pretty much cooled off. Without the red haze of betrayal coloring his thoughts, Sam could even start to understand Dean.

How many times had Sam hidden from Dean what was going on because it made him feel less than human, because his abilities and the curse of the demon blood made him feel like a freak?

And Dean... despite what they did for a living, despite the fact that both of them had been dead more often than it was healthy for regular humans, despite knowing that the two of them were the most powerful angel-vessels around, Dean still saw himself as a regular Joe. One more ant in the world. Just a human, like everybody else.

If he made the effort to try and step into Dean's shoes, Sam could easily understand that his brother was probably a little freaked out by the matter himself. It was one thing to hunt monsters; it was a whole different ball to see yourself as one.

Dean had been dragged into Purgatory a human; he had come out something more.

Sam looked around the deserted street, the soft sound of dripping suddenly reaching his ears. Looking down, he could see the pool of liquid by his feet, a bigger version of the trail of black goo, shiny as oil against the dark pavement, that he had left behind.

The bag of heads he was carrying was soaked through. Opening it with a growing sense of dread, Sam gasped as he looked inside. Most of the heads of the Leviathans had melted!

Thinking back at mayhem during the fight, Sam remembered taking advantage of Dean's head-chopping spree and reaching for a blade of his own to fight by his side.

But Sam's blade had been a regular long knife, one of their own, one he knew would only sever the head of the Leviathans and little else. No killing them, no melting body parts, which meant...

Dean had a frigging tattoo on his arm that could morph into a sword at his will. A sword that, as far as Sam could tell, was able to kill the most powerful being they'd encountered so far, the Leviathans.

Sam couldn't help but grin. That was really cool!

A door banged in the distance and Sam looked back at the empty warehouse where he'd left Dean, expecting to see his brother. Instead, he saw a balding, skinny man, dragging a body outside.

The smile faded from Sam's lips. In a lifetime together, Sam had seen Dean in just about every angle and shape one person can imagine another. Even in the dark, from such a distance, it was impossible for Sam not to recognize his brother's limp body being pulled away into a dark alley.

Dropping the gooey bag on the floor, Sam raced to follow. He had absolutely no way to kill the Leviathan, but he couldn't lose track of where the thing was taking Dean.

The fact alone that the Leviathan was keeping Dean alive was enough to send a chill down Sam's spine. They had figured that the whole thing at the warehouse had been a trap, but now Sam was sure he knew for whom the trap was set.

They were after Dean.

- o -

He would die first, but if ever pushed to talk about his experiences in Hell, Heaven and Purgatory, Dean would say that all of them had sucked, but also that he had hated less the last one.

And people would ask, "Surely you mean Heaven, not Purgatory?"

What the fuck do people know anyway?

Hell had lived up to its expectations. It was terror, pain and despair, all rolled into one massive cluster of loss and failure.

The game was fixed and there were only two positions you could play: the victim or the torturer. Dean had been forced into both roles and he had felt trapped and helpless in both. Hell made him feel dirty, no matter if he was the one being shredded by hot knifes or the one holding the blade.

Heaven had been a disappointment. Deep down, everyone holds the hope that Heaven –even if it doesn't exist- should be a place filled with peace and happiness.

All Dean found in there were lies. The souls of the dead were lied to, led to believe that their lives went on just the same when in fact they were all trapped in re-runs of their own soap operas. They were the angels' bitches and most of them didn't even realize it.

The whole thing had reminded Dean of the one time he had tried drugs. The feeling of letting go, of entrusting all decisions and power to something else that you could not see or understand, to float five inches above your own existence and be nothing but a hot air balloon controlled by the wind and without a mind of its own.

After the initial buzz, Dean had been scared shitless at the lack of control.

Heaven was exactly the same. No control, no power over your own fate, helpless to get off the ride and start a new story. Stuck in the seat the angels decide to put you and watching the same movie forever.

Purgatory had sucked, no question about it. It was like the longest survival course that Dean had ever taken, a whole degree in blood and gore, a PhD in how to kill to avoid being killed.

But Dean hadn't been helpless; he had barely survived by the skin of his teeth, but he had fought and he had won.

He had been able to fight.

- o -

Sam had lost his prey.

He'd been a hunter his whole life, stalking monsters as monsters stalked the innocent. Rare had been the times when the monsters had gotten the better over Sam.

Most of the times, he had Dean or his father to cover his back, to look right when Sam had to look left, to keep all angles covered. On the few occasions he'd hunted alone -because he either lost someone, or was lost himself- he had been so deeply focused that he could almost guess what the monsters would do next. And he did not lose sight of them until they were dead.

The damn Leviathan carrying the body—

The damn Leviathan carrying Dean had given Sam the slip. It had turned left, then right and then all the lights had gone out and by the time Sam's eyes had grown used to the dark, they were both gone.

As far as Sam was aware, Leviathan weren't like demons and angels. They couldn't pop out of existence at will, pop in again at some other location. They walked, they ran, they used cars and other means of transportation.

Sam had lost Dean from sight, but his ears were still working and he hadn't heard any engine start. They were still around there somewhere. He just needed to figure out in which of the nearly twenty warehouses Dean was being held.

At some point, Sam could swear he had heard his name at a distance. He had stopped, closed his eyes, trying to pin point the source but all he could hear were crickets and the rustling of leaves.

Half an hour later Sam was ready to start screaming and let the Leviathans find him instead of the other way around. He'd searched the five buildings closest to the last location he had tracked the Leviathan and come out empty handed. Plus, the warehouses were huge and Sam knew he was wasting time Dean did not have.

The sound of tires rolling over wet floor was the one thing out of place that Sam immediately latched on. Someone else was there.

Moving as silently as he could, Sam followed the sound until he heard the car stop and doors banging. Five men exited an old Ford Lincoln and headed for one the warehouses Sam had already searched.

_What the fuc—_

Sam had searched that place from top to bottom. He was sure it had been empty. And yet, there was no doubt in his mind that those men were Leviathans and that they had come because of Dean.

His wandering about hadn't been completely useless though. Second storage place was being remodeled and the cleaning crew had left their supplies in there. Sam clutched tightly the industrial bottles of Borax as he watched the group of Leviathans go inside.

Sam followed them in.

- o -

There were tiny Leviathan floating in the air, swirling around like dust. Dean pushed his eyes close, trying to force the dark spots away from his vision.

The sickly smell of blood filled his senses and Dean suddenly remembered why there was a bad taste at the back of his mouth; they were going to reopen the door to Purgatory and get Dick out and they already had the two main ingredients for it.

All that they needed now was a little cooperation from the stars.

Even in his fogged, exhausted mind, Dean knew he couldn't let that happen. He willed his eyes to focus. In between the blows to the head and the blood loss, that was nothing short of a Herculean effort.

What he had been looking for, however, didn't require that much of a focused eyesight. A full moon, peeking from behind storm clouds, was a hard thing to miss.

If there was an eclipse that night, they were screwed.

There were voices, echoing in the mainly empty space. 'Steve' had called in reinforcements, it would seem.

Dean studied his options. His hands were tied behind his back and he felt so weak that the only thing keeping him upright was the fact that he'd been propped against a corner of the small fence running the length of the rooftop. One short push and Dean could jump over the edge. Were he able to fly, he'd be home free.

As it were, his only option was through the roof door. And there were currently five Leviathans, plus 'Steve', having a merry meeting there.

To be completely honest with himself, Dean had no idea why he was still alive. The monsters had gotten what they wanted and, at this point, he was nothing but food to them. Why keep him alive at all?

He tugged on the ropes, not really expecting to find any give, but old habits were hard to break. Blood, both from the patch of skin that had been ripped off, and from the puncture wound the Leviathan had made to collect his blood had cumulated to soak them thoroughly through. Instead of loosening them, however, the dry blood had made the ropes too stiff and thick to allow for any give at all.

He had no weapons, no strength, no way of overpowering the gathering of monsters standing between him and freedom.

All Dean had was Sam, somewhere out there, hopefully already aware that his brother was missing.

Dean leaned his head against the cool wall, allowing it to calm his feverish skin. He couldn't stay there, hoping for the off chance that Sam might arrive in time, that Sam might arrive at all.

He needed a plan.

Dean stood no chance against the group of Leviathans, that much he had no illusions about. But he sure as hell could still make sure that the gateway to Purgatory stayed close.

There was only one thing that Dean could do.

On top of one of the ventilation shafts to his left sat two jars filled with a dark fluid. Dean figured one was his and the other the virgin's blood. All he needed to do was make his way there and destroy the one ingredient that the Leviathans wouldn't be able to replace at a moment's notice. The blood of the virgin.

Easy plan.

All Dean needed to do was to get up and move. Which was the same as saying '_here's a car. Lift it up using nothing but with your pinky toes'_.

Dean pushed against the ground, his fingers gripping the gravel and trying to find an anchor for his motion. It was hard to keep his balance with his hands behind his back and the world swirling around him, but the wall was a constant that helped Dean tell his up from down. Kind of.

His legs trembled as Dean finally made his way upright, feeling like he'd just climbed Mount Everest in his briefs. The dark spots were back, but this time Dean didn't waste anytime chasing them away. All he needed was to walk five feet, unscrew a jar and spill the blood.

Easy plan. Bitch of an execution.

- o -

Sam was ready to kick himself when he saw the group of Leviathans take the stairs for the roof access. He _had_ been there before, he knew it.

He just hadn't searched the damn roof.

Patience was hard to come by and Sam had to push away the urge to just follow them out, take control of the overwhelming need to just barge into a situation he knew nothing about. It wouldn't help Dean and it would probably get him in as much trouble as his brother and it sucked.

Most, if not all the buildings in that place that Sam had seen so far, had only one access door to the roof, which meant that the Leviathans would see him at the same time, if not before he saw them. Armed with just a couple of two-gallon containers of Borax, Sam needed the element of surprise on his side.

Racing out before he could change his mind, Sam didn't slow down until he reached the building immediately next to the one where Dean was being held. He took the stairs two at a time, stopping only when he reached the roof access.

Opening the door as quietly as he could, Sam peaked out and sighed in relief. The orientation of the roof he occupied was such that the access door was hidden from sight from the adjacent roof.

Dropping into the shadows, Sam walked around the access and looked across. Standing right in front of the roof access door stood all six of the Leviathans, talking to each other like some book club meeting. The wind carried their voices across, but still Sam couldn't tell what they were talking about.

Sam pulled his coat closer and perused the rest of the roof. Like the one he was on, there were shadowy areas where he couldn't see; blind spots that he hoped weren't hiding even more Leviathans. Six was going to be hard enough as it was wi—

His gaze froze when he spotted a familiar form. Dean.

Tucked away at the far end of the roof, leaning against the corner of two of the walls, Dean was barely more than a shadow himself. The vague human shape and the fact that the Leviathan who had taken Dean was a part of the group talking by the door, however, was all Sam needed to be sure that he was looking at his brother.

The fact that the shape hadn't moved an inch since Sam had spotted him was doing weird things to his heart, sending it racing in fits and starts. Was he too late?

The rational part of Sam's brain eventually managed to take over and offer some sense to the situation. If there was one thing that their past experiences had taught them was that with the Leviathans, 'too late' meant not much left except for body 'crumbs'.

The clouds moved and in the sudden brightness of a full moon, Sam could see more details. Midway between Dean and the group of Leviathans, on top of what looked like an air conditioner unit, there was a glint of glass. It took a second for Sam's eyes to focus enough to realize that the glint came from a set of glass jars, each filled with a dark something.

Sam's brain was too quick to make the connection.

The last time, his brain had been consumed with the fight with his personal demons in the form of a very insidious and tortuous memory of Lucifer. Still, Sam remembered well being sent to fetch a jar filled with the blood of a virgin and Bobby's lady friend, the one who'd come from Purgatory all those decades ago.

Sam looked up at the full moon again. Certainly they weren't trying to...

The blood of a virgin was relatively easy to get, the blood of a Purgatory native not so much. Although Leviathans were as native to Purgatory as they come, they didn't actually have blood, just that gooey substance that resembled more like petroleum. So where would they ge—

Sam's gaze fell on the unmoving shape again. Oh, crap!

Making his way down, feet barely touching the steps, Sam raked his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to pull. The one thing he wanted to do NOW! was the one thing Sam needed to save for last. First, he needed a plan to get pass all those Leviathans, destroy those jars and, finally, get Dean out of there.

He looked around in despair. The warehouse Sam was currently in was one of the few actually in use. Row upon row of pallets and large containers filled the area, leaving only two corridors to move around. There had to be something there that he could use to even the odds.

Sam looked at the labels on the sides of the containers. Soft drinks, paper, auto parts, clothing, box after box filtered through his eyes until it all became a blur. And then Sam saw the logo of a brand he recognized. Trojan.

He couldn't help but smile.

- o -

Strange as it sounded, the thing that Dean had missed the most while he was stuck in Purgatory, was music.

Sure, he missed Sam, that much was a given, but knowing that his brother had not been dragged to that place along with him was to Dean more a source of comfort rather than grief.

He missed his car, but then again, there was nothing new to that sentiment. Being on the run from the Leviathans for the better part of a year had meant being apart from his baby; sad as it was, he had learned to do without. On some days, Dean even caught himself thinking that the Impala was _just_ a car.

Not having the need to eat, drink or sleep was weird, but as he felt no hunger, thirst or sleep, he had soon learned to do without that as well.

But music...

On any given day, music was the familiar balm that smoothed his troubles away; it was like fresh air for Dean, cleaning his mind from all the crap he saw on a daily basis and allowing him to breathe more easily.

Dean felt like he had been suffocating for the whole time he'd spent in Purgatory.

On one given night, sitting victorious with Benny and Cass in the field of their latest battle –Vetalas or Wendigos, something with too many teeth- Dean started humming.

Humming turned into voicing the words for a song he knew well and soon after he had managed to get his companions to join in.

They sang terribly and Benny and Cass didn't know the words, but there was music in Purgatory for the first time since the beginning of times.

Dean had felt so human and alive in that moment that his eyes watered and he knew beyond any doubt that he wanted to go home.

Benny must have seen that in Dean's eyes, because from that moment on, he started whistling whenever they were forced to fight for their lives.

Each monster that they defeated was one step closer to getting out of there.

Each shred of music echoing in that colorless forest was a step closer to home.

- o -

The first two steps had been somewhat easy. After that, Dean had lost track. His whole world had been reduced to those two jars of blood, all else erased from his senses.

He was whistling. Dean hadn't even noticed when he'd started doing it, but now that the sound was there, he couldn't bring himself to stop.

It was easier to focus on the notes rather than the swirling world around him or the fact that his body felt so rubbery that he could barely sense his feet touching the ground. It gave him strength. Purpose.

Dean whistled and with every low-toned note that drifted out, loosed from pursed dry lips and toss to drift in the wind, he got closer to his goal.

Somewhere outside his bubble of focus, Dean could hear running feet. Distantly, he knew that he'd been spotted and that he needed to hurry.

Speed, however, wasn't on the menu anymore. Dean was like a giant iceberg, with no chance of being steered; no course correction; no acceleration; no breaks.

Someone shouted his name, but Dean couldn't take the risk of looking to see if Sam was really there or if he'd imagined it. To look would mean to divert his focus and that would be the end of his mission.

With one last push of sheer will strength, Dean collapsed on top of the jars. Underneath his chest, he felt a moment of satisfaction as glass broke under his weight. A sticky wetness started to soak his shirt before everything faded to nothingness and Dean smiled.

He'd done it.

- o -

When he was twelve, Sam had played the part of Frank Gibbs at a school play. His teacher had praised his acting, saying that he was a natural.

Knowing what his father and brother did for a living and how they managed to fool everyone –him included, for a while- nothing could've angered Sam more than being told that he was good at making others believe he was someone he was not. That had been the end of Sam Winchester's acting career.

As he opened the door to the roof and looked in surprised horror at the six Leviathans staring back at him, Sam's acting was at his best. The trick was, it had always been, to not fake emotion. Only, his terror wasn't for the monsters leering at him. It was for the thought that he might be too late.

Letting the door fall closed behind him, Sam moved across the catwalk that ran across the entire building. When the door slammed a second time, he stopped, turned around and aimed.

"Bullets don't work on us, you moron," one the three Leviathans that had come inside said. "But go ahead... let out some steam," he added with a smirk.

It was Sam's turn to smirk back. "Sure thing."

Sam changed his aim to a higher point and shot. The bullet missed all three monsters; instead, it hit the cluster of Borax filled condoms that Sam had hung over the catwalk, directly in front of the access door. The latex exploded in a shower of floor cleaner that covered the screaming Leviathans.

As soon as the bullet had left his gun, Sam was at a sprint, racing towards the door. Borax was effective in distracting Leviathans, but it wouldn't kill them.

The head of the first Leviathan landed with a splat four stories below, quickly followed by two others.

Dick's minions... terminated by condoms. It was like being killed by a pun.

Sam stopped and took a breath. The whole thing couldn't have taken more than thirty seconds and yet his heart was racing.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Sam opened the door to the roof a second time. This time the surprised look on his face was genuine.

He had expected the remaining three Leviathans to be on their toes, waiting for him to finish what he'd started. Instead, their attention was on the other side of the roof. Dean was on the move.

"Dean!"

Two of the Leviathans looked in Sam's direction but paid him no attention. Their focus was on Dean, who hadn't even looked like he'd heard Sam at all. They were all moving towards the same destination.

The center of the roof and the two jars. Instinctively, Sam knew what Dean intended to do. He also realized that, at the turtle speed Dean was currently moving, there was no way he was going to reach it before the Leviathans reached him.

On the run, Sam reached into his pocket and took out two more condoms filled with Borax. He threw them at the moving Leviathans, watching in anger as the slow projectiles hit their targets, bounced off and landed on the gravel, perfectly intact. Great... he was stuck with the safest condoms in the market.

"Hey! Hey!" he yelled, trying to get their attention, Dean's attention, trying to get _anyone_ to look at him and stop moving.

Sam sprinted forward, cursing the gravel ground that didn't allowed for a proper grip and made his every foot fall slip and slide. As soon as he was in reach, Sam jumped and tackled the closest Leviathan.

Sam Winchester, the hunter who used to have demon blood until he spent a hundred years in Hell, who had been brought back to life by an angel with a skewed sense of being helpful; Sam, no less human than the guy next door, grabbed one of the oldest and most powerful beasts in all of creation, and nailed him down using nothing but the strength of his arms.

Physically, there wasn't a chance in Hell that Sam could overcome the fuming Leviathan underneath him. But Sam only really needed a few seconds to reach into his pocket, grab one more of his improvised 'bombs' and smash it in the monster's face.

The acid-like effect that the Borax had on Leviathans was so aggressive and corrosive that Sam fought the urge to wipe his hand clean where the liquid had splattered him.

Instead, Sam gripped his machete tighter and used it to part the monster from its melting head. He kicked it away, hoping to buy himself time enough to deal with the other two before this one managed to get himself whole again.

There was no time to celebrate one less gooey monster on the face of the Earth. The other two were almost by Dean's side.

Sam rushed up, skidded on the loose ground and raced forward without missing a beat. He was almost there. He could see Dean's pale face, the sweat pouring under his eyes, the resolute set of his mouth.

Dean wasn't going to stop for nothing.

Sam watched as the two remaining Leviathans made a grab for Dean. His brother gave them the slip in an elegant move that Sam would have been proud of if he hadn't realized the true nature of the evasion.

Dean's steam had run out. He stumbled and fell, twisting out of the Leviathans' hands and landing with a sickening thud on top of the two jars. Dark blood pooled underneath him, running down the AC unit like hot chocolate over a cake.

"DEAN!"

Heart thundering inside his chest, Sam had no recollection of getting past the Leviathans, emptying the rest of his Borax bombs in their faces and grabbing Dean's inert form.

Only when his hands were around Dean and the deadweight registered, did Sam started breathing again. "Hey… Dean, come on! Open your eyes!"

Dean obeyed just as everything started to go dark.

- o -

Dean had died once in Purgatory.

Cass was gone, not one word to say if he was still alive, dead or if he had simply been kicked out of Purgatory for being the wrong species to be in there in the first place.

Every passing hour in that place was a struggle, a fight to the death. It took its toll on the senses, always alert; body endlessly tense as a wire, ready to spring.

Dean didn't feel the need to sleep, but that only meant that his nights were as long as his days. Never a moment to rest, never a moment to stop. His mind told him that he should be exhausted, that there was no way a human body can withstand that level of alertness for as long as Dean's had and not burn out. But his body just kept on going.

After awhile, Dean lost track of how he'd been in that place. There was only surviving the fight and live long enough until the next fight.

Rationality went away; all that remained was instinct.

Dean felt himself become more animal than human, tossing away all the unnecessary things that would hinder his survival.

Love.

Doubt.

Compassion.

Fear.

Hope.

It took him awhile to realize what was happening, but when he did, it had felt like a kick in the chest. He was losing himself in that place.

If Sam had seen him as Dean was then, he would've killed him, unable to discern his own brother under all that animal rage.

And Dean found himself having to decide whether he wanted to be human or survive.

The monster that had dragged Dean underneath the river had just been bad timing.

The thing had tentacles with spiky pores and as it coiled around one Dean's waist and two more around his arms, he could feel the pointy ends piercing his skin and cutting him open.

Dean had stopped just for a few minutes and that had gotten him killed.

As water rushed inside his lungs, Dean found hope again. He hoped that death would be his way out of that place, so he let himself go.

Turned out, death in Purgatory didn't follow the same rules as on Earth. Shocker.

Everything went black, then white and as he opened his eyes again, Dean found himself in the same gray world.

In Hell, Dean knew he would have come back whole again, ready for the next round of torture.

In Purgatory, things went slower.

He was back, but the damaged made by the tentacle monster was still there. Dean couldn't move, he could barely breath, blood slowly soaking the forest ground as he lay there, waiting.

Waiting for the pain to stop.

Waiting for the next monster to find him and kill him all over again.

Crying in despair because he knew then there was no way out of that place.

Benny found him three days later. And the vampire not only didn't kill him, but told him that being human was good.

That being human was his way out.

- o -

It was the oddest thing, to feel wet and cold on front and warm and safe in the back. It was like Dean's back had declared independence from his chest and abandoned it to its miserable condition.

Someone was urging Dean to open his eyes, an annoying insistence that he decided to oblige just to get the person to shut up.

As he opened his eyes and the world eventually came into focus, three things registered so quickly and so devastatingly that Dean couldn't move, paralyzed in shock and fear.

The moon was quickly disappearing, which meant the eclipse had begun.

Sam was standing above him, all of his attention focused on Dean.

And there were two Leviathans standing behind Sam, ready to strike.

There was no time to shout a warning; there was no time to even think about what to do.

One second Dean was feeling the utter despair of watching everything unfold around him and being helpless to stop it and the next he could feel the –now familiar- surge of energy running through his body.

The recently skewered skin of Dean's arm felt like it was covered in electricity, numb and on fire at the same time.

It was as instinctive as breathing.

Dean pushed Sam away and, even though he remembered in painful detail as the Leviathan had cut away his tattoo, he knew that when he struck forward, there would be a blade in his hand. It burned like fire, blade red like it was hot, cutting swiftly across the Leviathans necks.

When he was done, Dean gave the blade in his hand a confused look very similar to the one Sam had given him just hours before. That blade shouldn't be there. 'Steve' had cut the tattoo away...

"Hey! Dean? Are you okay? Are you with me?"

Dean could only nod, looking around at the mess of dead bodies and spilled blood. They were nothing but shadows as the moon became completely covered and the word turned black as oil.

"Let's get out of here," Sam let out with a sigh of relief, his warm hands grabbing Dean by the shoulders and urging him forward.

Dean stumbled the first couple of steps, the adrenaline of the moment ebbing away and leaving nothing behind other than exhaustion and pain.

"You know," Sam said as they walked over the bodies by the door and stepped inside. "I may have freaked out a little bit when I realized what that tattoo of yours did, but now..." he paused, chuckled and Dean could hear the enthusiasm and wonderment in his voice. "Now, I gotta admit, it comes in pretty handy!"

Dean looked at him, his left hand automatically trying to cover the mess in the right forearm, the mess left behind by the absent skin. He resisted the urge to look back at the rooftop entrance, past the door, past the bodies and into that jar of clear liquid where his tattooed skin was left floating away." Yeah," he whispered. "Pretty handy."

The eclipse was over by the time they reached the street and despite the white light of the full moon that washed the darkness away, Dean still felt in limbo.

Everything was okay; everything was about to come apart.

They had stopped the Leviathans' plan for now, but now they knew that Dick had left instructions to get his ass out of Purgatory. All the Leviathans needed was another eclipse. And blood.

Sam had seemed to accept the fact that Dean had a tattoo that could magically transform into a powerful weapon, but now Dean had to deal with the fact that the tattoo was just ornamental. The tattoo had been cut away and still the weapon had appeared when Dean had needed it. Whatever that woman in Purgatory had done to him, it went deeper than skin.

"Hey... are you okay?" Sam asked again as they neared the car. Dean's silence seemed to have registered. "You lost a lot of blood, we should—"

Sam's hand reached out, intended on looking at the forearm Dean had been clutching since they left the roof. It was impossible to hide the fact that there was an injury there, not with a blood soaked sleeve pointing its accusatory finger. "Lemme take a look at that..."

Dean instinctively pulled away, stumbling when he found himself without Sam's support. "It's fine," he offered, the words too fast and casual to ring true.

"You don't need to hide it anymore, Dean," Sam reminded him, forcefully pulling Dean's hand away and carefully peeling the soaked sleeve away. "It's not like I don't know what that tattoo does now."

The normalcy of Sam's words and his lack of reaction at the torn skin caught Dean by surprise. He looked down, barely managing to hide his surprise as he saw what Sam was looking at.

The tattoo was back, skin restored where it had once been cut. Like nothing had happened.

"No cuts, no burns," Sam pointed out, looking at the skin closely. "So where did all this blood come from?"

Dean felt hot and cold at the same time. "I have no idea," he whispered.

_I have no idea what's going on_, Dean thought.

_I don't know what I'm becoming_; Dean couldn't bring himself to think.

"Let's just get out of here," Dean said aloud. Maybe if they drove fast enough, he could leave all that had happened that night behind him.

Benny had told him that being human was the key to getting out of Purgatory. But what if it had been the price to pay?

The end

AN: Many, huge thanks to Jackfan2 for her general awesomeness and kick ass beta reading skills! All remaining mistakes are mine.


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